Purple Haze
by quorra laraex
Summary: They'll see each other again one day, and when they do, it would be his turn to share secrets. He owed her that much.


**A/N**: it's au, if you didn't know.

* * *

She was a girl who wore nothing but oversized T-shirts and an army jacket with large pockets filled quarters—and only quarters. She had nothing but an iPod with her, a lighter, and a natural glow painted on her porcelain face.

He questioned why he allowed her inside his house on that stormy evening—her, soaked, drenching the mat outside his door, but he could never come up with a definite answer, when he remained baffled and moved out of the way for her to enter wordlessly. It was like he had the sudden urge to do it, like it was an opportunity he needed to take. He had a feeling, and he couldn't describe it. It could've been fate that they met at his doorstep right then and there. It could've been destiny's works shooting at the two of them in the most odd way.

He just knew he had to let her in.

That's why—perhaps.

Like an abrupt switch had been triggered in the back of his mind that said yes, just let her into your house, even if you've never seen her or heard of her, or even if they hadn't exchanged words in the first place. Just let her in.

He watched as she trembled, making her way toward his kitchen to sit herself down on the stool before thunder roared and the lights had gone out. They met eyes, unfazed as he trailed towards her, shutting the door behind him as he found candles in his second kitchen drawer. She took out her lighter from the combat boots she was wearing and flicked it on to incinerate the flames onto the little string of the scented wax.

A haze of smoke tingled at his throat as he coughed out a nonchalant comment about the horrid weather.

She nodded, and blasted out an apology for intruding his home.

He replied with a snotty comment about how normal people didn't do strange things like that.

And he received a kick in the shin before the two exchanged names.

—

She never asked for food, or a towel, or to use the restroom, or a conversation. She expected nothing but hospitality for this one night.

It was raining—hard, at that. Hail had kicked in by then. The lights were still off, and she sat next to the fireplace, breathing in the heat while one loose earphone hung from her. For some odd reason, she felt like she could see herself reflected in each flame, like she was burning in it, suffocating in the ashes, burning her dignity, her soul, everything left of her. She was supposed to have the control to look away, it was just one simple notion of the head, but no—she was dreaming into the fire, she couldn't look away. She was entranced, mesmerized as bits of her memory pieced together—

It clouded her head—

Her thoughts were foggy.

Her face felt warmer,

_Hotter_—

"Hey!" His voice flung her back to reality, back into the small and dark living room she had been sitting in. His voice had caught her off guard; or to be literal, _on_ guard. "It looked like you were gonna fall into my fireplace, shortie."

She felt her face fluster in obvious indignation. "_Rude_. Lay off, prick."

"Who're you calling a prick! I just indirectly saved your life." _How arrogant_, she thought as she smirked to herself. He shrugged and planted himself onto his couch. He lied down thoughtlessly before continuing, "Why did you come here, anyways?"

There was a pause as she took her eyes away from the heat transmitter. She focused on him. "I needed a place to stay for the night."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Don't you have a place to live?"

There was a pause.

Then a little shudder.

"No," she muttered. "I don't."

—

Ichigo let her use his shower. It could've been pity that forced him to hand her a green towel from his cabinet, or it could've been hormones—_no_—he pulled that last thought out of his mind. For christ's sake, she was homeless. He had to do something for her. His thoughts were in a mess in the depths of his mind, and why had he trusted her this much? He couldn't find the answer.

He didn't even know why he was going to let her stay in the first place. If it had been anybody else who was unfortunately poor and homeless, he doubt he'd let them stay at his home for a night.

He heard the shower turn on in the room next to him, and sounds of relief slipping out through her lips as she was surrounded in heat.

Actually—scratch that—

He knew something: He had a naked girl in his house,

—right now.

—

"It was like…" She paused, fixating her gaze to his glass table in front of the television set along with his arranged stereos and CD tracks. "He was like my brother, y'know? Or no—he was like my best friend. Nothing went on really; we didn't fuck if that's what you're thinking. We just lived together, but his girlfriend didn't know, and she couldn't. She was nice, yeah, but jealous and unfortunately, arrogant and protective. Very protective. But I mean, I had nowhere to live, I was disowned, and so I came to live with Kaien while his girlfriend had been out for some interview in New York or something." Pause. It was longer this time. "There was—There was a fire a couple days ago. It was so stupid, so fucking stupid. He was smoking—I told 'im to stop, but he never listened." She shook her head. It was dim in the room, but he could still see the lines of a small smile on her smug face as she recalled a few flashbacks. "He was such an idiot. He slipped on cooking oil, hit his head on the corner of the walls of our kitchen, his cig falling wherever. The blow hit him unconscious, but by the time I got home from buying those cheap vegetables from the marker, the place—_our_ place—it was on fire. And it was all because I left."

Ichigo didn't miss a word she said. He wondered what gave her the true gut to tell him this when he simply asked 'Why'. But the answer came to him.

"I tried dragging him out, I did, but he was burning from the damned oil he spilt when trying to cook eggs for the first time. It was raining outside when I called nine-one-one." Her tanzanite gaze flickered back to the strawberry blonde. "He didn't make it. His girlfriend found out, though. Miyako was her name. She found me gathering what was left from our money-box, it had burnt, only leaving the coins. Whenever we had change, we'd give them as tips, except the quarters. So I collected all of 'em. And that's when she barged into the apartment, enraged at my presence. She thought I was some 'other girl' and basically threw me out before I could pack up my clothes. But before I had left, I grabbed Kaien's lighter—just something that can remind me of him."

She didn't say anything for awhile, her breaths slower and her eyes to the carpet. It was until Ichigo had gotten up and sat beside her when her pace had quickened once more.

"I told him cigarettes would be the death of him. Funny how—how it actually happened that way."

She started crying.

—

They rested there, on his roofed patio. They stood and watched as the rain poured.

She remained wordless as she turned to him after a twenty minute stare at the continuous water drowning the air. She only wore her large t-shirt that hung above her knees, mid-thigh. And god knows what else she was wearing, if she was wearing anything at all under there. Her face was illuminated by the dim fluorescent lighting of the lamp next to the backdoor. Smudges of black surrounded the bottom of her eyes—just a bit. She looked kind of… Hot. He had to admit it. She was pretty stunning, _yes_.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment before she gave him a saddened smile and walked back inside his house.

They both shared the same emotion. The empathy between the two was inevitable.

They've both suffered.

A whole lot of sorrow had been felt as the rain fell.

—

Rukia sat on his counter top, flicking her lighter on and off while Ichigo stayed put, trying to find out what she was thinking about. Once she put it down and her orbs flew to his amber pools, they both held their breaths. He felt like he was surrounded in a mist of lavender and violet in the hue of blue—a purple haze.

It was as if every time their eyes would lock, they felt connected. Their minds, their thoughts, their feelings, their hearts—their _souls_.

He flashed her an embarrassed smile before asking if she wanted anything else on her one-night stay.

They were one.

—

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five—?

Shots had been basically inhaled, vacuumed into their mouths, clean and straight down their throat like a waterfall. Except it wasn't pure and beautiful, but kind of disgusting for that matter and had to immediately be followed by warm orange soda. The alcohol drained into both of them. She was such a lightweight, he was thinking after her third shot. Her liquid eyes were drooping as she laughed, and her face was becoming pink.

He was glad his father had given him bottles and bottles of Grey Goose accompanied with Jack Daniels, numerous fruit coolers, and champagne for whenever something came up. It had been extremely useful for that night. He wasn't sure how to make her feel any better, though he did understand. And what better way to make one happy than alcohol to do the job?

The two strangers had challenged each other with whoever could take more in without passing out. And at the rate the dark-haired girl was going, Ichigo had lost hope in winning the battle. She flashed him a cocky smile and unconsciously draped an arm around his neck. She started laughing.

"I haven't had this much fun since high school!" her cheery voice made him feel almost happy, as he smirked at her half-ass actions.

"We're just drinking," he merely replied, not removing her slender arm from contact. Instead, he made it that they were closer together, lazily standing in front of her. His body pushed the arch of her back against the marble counter mingling a bit.

She felt weak and timid, but very, very excited.

And at the same time, she felt safe—

(she felt _right_)

—

The sunlight gleamed through the slightly opened window, directly hitting Rukia's eyes as she woke up on his patterned cushioned couch, which surprisingly fit the two of them. Their limbs were pathetically entangled with each other and their bodies were both bare under a single thin blanket. _Fuck_, she thought, as she tried to remove herself from his arms. She had certainly not intended for this to happen, though it was partially her fault. She's the one who asked if he had any beverages to 'take her away'.

He was still snoozing quietly when she slid her legs from his grip. She stood in front of his toned body, and sighed. She had to leave. She waltzed around the coffee table and grabbed his t-shirt lying next to the burnt out fire place. Maybe it had grown into a tendency, but she liked having at least one simple souvenir from the adventures she brought herself into. She threw on the shirt as well as the panties she left in the bathroom, put on her jacket and grabbed her lighter and music player from the counter. After pushing her feet into her boots, with a small glint in her eyes, she skid out the front door without thought.

The rain had stopped.

—

Ichigo awakened to a painful headache. It was as if he could feel his pulse thumping around on the left side of his head as his eyes were blinded by the steak of golden light peeking from the window. The vodka had really affected his brain. Instead of seeing the girl beside him, he noticed an empty space on the couch, as well as her shirt lying near him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, realizing she was gone. His mind felt heavy, it was hard to stir his legs up to stand. Instead of having cautious thoughts that last night could have been a pure figment of his imagination—that she could have been a dream—a form created by his various pinnacle of wants—how could such a perfect human being be _so_—

A sudden comfort swept over him as he realized his own shirt was missing.

No, he didn't know where she was going. He had no clue where she was going to take herself; where life was going to take her. He didn't know what she was going to do or how she was going to do it. She could hitch rides, sleep in strange various places, use her quarters for payphones around the damned world, and he would never know. He wasn't even sure if she had told him her last name. But he did know _one_ thing.

He smiled, utterly confident. He was going to see her again someday.

If it _had_ been fate that brought them together last night—

If their indescribable trust assisted her in telling him something so personal,

(as if, being with one another felt inexplicably _right_)

(and appropriately empathetic, as well)

There was no doubt in Ichigo's mind that they would be able to find their way to each other once again. And the next time they did meet, it would be his turn to share secrets. He owed her that much.

The storm subsided.

* * *

**A/N**: i hope i didn't make this too weird... it's kind of a new writing style for me. and as much as i love ichiruki (they're my top otpppp!) i can never really write for them. :(


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